I focused on the two white lines outlining the parking space as I carefully maneuvered my car into the space. I glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. It read 6:24 a.m. Okay. Park. Engage emergency break. Put the gear shift in neutral. Turn off the headlights. Switch off music. Turn off the car.

Breathe.

I'm not running late; I have plenty of time. After doing a quick double check that the emergency break is engaged, I unbuckled my seatbelt and exited my car. I placed each footstep carefully, mindful of the snow and ice that could definitely turn my morning sour if I wasn't careful. As I walked toward the back door of Another Cup, I clicked my key fob four times, making sure to hear four corresponding beeps, ensuring my car was locked. I unlocked the cafe door and got to work.

Being a barista isn't my dream job but I need something to support myself as I try to figure out what exactly it is that I want to do with the rest of my life. Plus, I figure that just about anywhere you go people drink coffee so it seems like a good skill to learn. The only experience I had when I applied for the job was some minimal bartending experience, which I was told was a positive as, "This is pretty much the same thing but with coffee". I threw on a tight smile and faux confidence for the interview and was surprised when the owner asked me questions about what hobbies I had and what kind of music I liked rather than my work experience. The head chef commented that they were looking for someone who was interesting and willing to learn a new skill. I considered myself to be relatively uninteresting and was terrified to learn a new skill. Regardless of how I felt, I talked as enthusiastically as I could manage about some traveling I had done, my musical tastes, and my love of coffee and tea-- a fact that wasn't forced or exaggerated at all. Two weeks after the interview I had given up and assumed that they had hired someone else-- there had apparently been a lot of applications. To my surprise, just shy of three weeks later as I was applying to more jobs, I received a text from one of the managers asking about my availability so she could schedule my training.

That was about six months ago. I had come a long way from then. I went from not even knowing what it meant to dial in the espresso machine, constantly burning milk, and not knowing what any of the drinks were, to making some half-decent latte art, being able to have conversations about different blends, roasts, and grinds, and being able to make drinks that weren't even on the menu. I was no where near as good as some of the other baristas, but I could get the job done. My episodes of shaking and sweating from stress and anxiety no longer occurred during every order and sometimes I would even find myself relaxing a bit.

Another Cup was a mix of traditional Italian and new wave coffee in that we did some newer more innovative drinks but our drinks were also almost all served as the traditional Italian versions. If you asked for a macchiato you would get an espresso marked with micro-foam, not a latte-esk, sugary concoction. The cafe was located in a tiny town called Rockingswell. Rockingswell had just about nothing going on in it, but was just off the interstate and about an hour or so from Philadelphia. Another Cup was a local favorite and regulars kept us steady but the traffic from the interstate had begun to make mornings and weekends quite busy as our ratings went up and our good reputation spread.

This morning I was opening by myself, as I often did on Mondays. I had thirty minutes to get the cafe ready and open by 7 a.m. Another barista or chef would come in at around 9 or so to help out with any morning rushes and to get ready for lunch. I sifted through the bills and coins in the drawer, making sure that the drawer had been done correctly the night before. As I counted my way through the pennies I heard the back door open and close. I would unlock the front door at 7 sharp but the back door could only be locked from the outside. The owner often stopped by to check on things in the early morning and make sure the fridges were stocked. I assumed he stopped in to order something and probably check in on me. I finished up counting the drawer, since I knew he would rather I get everything ready in time to open before taking time to chat.

The drawer was off by less than a dollar which wasn't too unusual, but I made a mental note to jot down the difference and recount it if there was time. It should've been about time to open so I spun toward the register to check the time. I gasped and my hand flew to my chest.

"Oh!" I exclaimed breathlessly with my hand over my rapidly beating heart. "Sorry I didn't realize you were here!" I glanced at the clock which read two minutes 'til 7 a.m. The older gentleman in front of me didn't seem the least bit apologetic or even aware that he had entered the shop before it opened. Although this did happen every once in awhile, not much could be done about it since the back door couldn't be locked from the inside but guests were allowed to use either entrance, though most used the front door.

"No worries. I'll have a red eye to go. Room for cream and sugar. Gotta get something to wake me up and get me goin' in the morning." He chuckled.

I hated when guests came in before we opened and was a bi